Anger bubbled its way up from deep within the older mouse. Teeth set and fists balled, the Freedom Fighter founder stopped over and pulled the two males apart.

Stunned, Throttle looked at Stoker's furious face. In a flash, he saw stars.

Mace wheezed as Stoker's metal tail coiled around his neck, bringing him to his knees. Clawing at the metal, trying to loosen its death grip, Mace thrashed as Stoker practically ignored him.

Reeling in pain, Throttle lashed out with his fists, striking Stoker in his face then collarbone.

Growing weaker, Mace knew he had to do something. As Stoker and Throttle punched at each other, Mace kicked out, connecting with the back of Stoker's knee. The older mouse went down.

Throttle took the opportunity and elbowed Stoker between shoulder and neck.

With a grunt of pain, Stoker's metal tail swung sideways before whipping its captive across the far wall. With a crash, Mace landed hard against the tool bench.

"What's the matter with you!?" Throttle yelled blocking a punch.

With one out of the Way, and recovered from Throttle's elbow, Stoker tackled the tawny mouse. "You and /him/!" he snarled.

Off balance, Throttle's back hit the wall hard. Above him, the tires rattled in their brackets.

The two struggled for the upper hand, Stoker finally snaked his tail around Throttle's wrist.

"You've made your choice punk!"

"What are you talking about!?" Throttle grunted, the metal tail squeezing his arm.

"Carbine." Stoker pushed back from the other mouse.

Throttle pushed off the wall, decking Stoker in the shoulder. "I love Carbine!"

"Then Act like it!" Stoker yelled, kicking Throttle in the mid-drift. Breathless the tan mouse slammed back against the wall.

The brackets wiggled out of their mountings, tires fell a top Throttle as Stoker leapt out of the way.

Leaving Throttle buried and unconscious.

Stoker made his way over to the traitor.

Groaning, the red furred mouse looked up to see Stoker's more than furious face glaring down at him with fisted paws and lashing metal tail.

Stoker reached down grabbing the cowering traitor by the front of his tattered shirt.

********

When Throttle came too, the garage was a disaster. Stoker and his bike had vanished, and so had Mace.

Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, he went to push a tire off of him. Blinding pain screamed in his arm. Seeing his right arm swelled and bruised with a strange new bump just below his bandana. That bump and the pain was all Throttle needed to know. His arm was broken.
"STOKER!!" He called out. Only silence replied. "MACE!?" Nothing answered back.
The shinning sun in the window told him he'd been out less then three hours. Kicking at the tires, trying to keep his hand still, Throttle crawled out and over the tires, wincing and cursing every time his freaking fingers, wrist or muscle flexed or moved.

Standing Throttle took stock of the battle zone. Blood dappled the walls, splattered the tires, smeared the floor and dripped from tools. A clump of red fur hung off the end of a tire iron.
Picking the piece of fur up, Throttle examined it. "No blood, no skin, looks like Stoker must have just missed hitting Mace with this." Dropping the fur, Throttle looked around. "NO sign of Mace. Hope he's okay." Limping out of the garage, Throttle got on his bike.

*******

Modo and Rimfire both looked up as Throttle practically crawled into the scoreboard.

Modo walked around his nephew who stood looking at the scattered remains of fight victims. Walking closer to the work area, Modo paused, sniffing. "Blood." he grunted with a frown.

"Fresh." Rimfire muttered sniffing too.

"Yeah...." Modo hummed.

Mace cowered in the small office. In case Stoker had brought recruitments to help finish him off. He had only woken moments ago, out side in the dumpster, not even sure how he had gotten there. He hid inside; hoping maybe the human wasn't as hostile towards him as the rest of his own kind was.

"Uncle Modo..." Rimfire's hushed voice brought the big gray mouse to the open door of the office. Rimfire pointed to the small tail tip exposed to the light, its owner obviously hiding under Charley's workbench.

On top of just starting to heal injuries, were more. Mace's swollen black eyes were now cut wide open, his lip busted and puffy both cheeks swollen from more abuse. His hands cut up into a bloody mess of defensive wounds. But the worse was his neck. Lacerations looking like rope burn bruised, swelled and bled from this throat. His clothing was dotted with blood from the fight. A fight he was too weak to win.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Modo said gently helping Mace out of the messed garage.

"..throttle..." Mace's voice rasped.

"He's at the hang out." Rimfire said taking Mace onto the front of his bike. Letting the thin, wounded mouse lean against him, supported by the bike as well, they raced to the scoreboard. Modo in the lead.